The Difference Between Living and Being Alive
by BracchenElwood
Summary: [Modern AU] One day was all it took for Arthur's life to fall apart.
1. Chapter 1

My story may be interesting to some more than others, to few or to many. But it should be known that it will rest with me, in the deepest corners of my very heart, for a million years to come. I suppose we must start with the basics. My name is Arthur Pendragon. I am currently 42 years and 7 months old. I live in a too-small apartment in the centre of London with my family and my one and only friend, a chocolate brown Labrador names Cooper [Cooper Attikus Pendragon the second, if you must know]. He was given to me by my sister, Morgana [A raven-haired beauty that could bring any man to his knees. Myself included], he has a missing leg and he's almost blind, though that never stopped him chasing me down the street when I had, not purposefully, locked him in a wardrobe for a little over three hours, but I digress. As I previously mentioned, my name is Arthur Pendragon. And this is my story.

As unabashedly clichéd as it may be, the day my story begins was the best day of my life. One of three, actually, but we'll get to the others in a moment. I woke up on my 20th birthday expecting nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a pair of socks. What I actually found when I opened my eyes on that rainy November morning was a letter, propped up on the pillow next to me, my name etched into the pure white paper with black ink. I ignored it, of course, and dragged myself out of bed and into the hallway. I was met by silence, cold and painful, and as I made my way down the stairs, I couldn't help but feel that something was wrong.

Let me explain. I live in a house with my mother, father, sister and two brothers, both of whom are under five years of age. Two toddlers, plus the three month old child that Morgana somehow produced, meant that my house was never quiet. Even at night, while all were asleep, I could hear the humming of a baby monitor or the sound of my brother mumbling in his sleep [Though Arthur didn't know it, 3 year old Teddy Pendragon was far from sleep; in fact, he was sat in the middle of his bedroom floor, halfway between his bed and his baby brothers, reading silently to himself from a book of fairytales that he had received as a birthday present from a neighbour], but the house was deathly silent. Not even the ticking of a clock was heard as I opened the kitchen door and looked inside.

As usual, the smell of fried bacon and eggs filled the room, rushing into my at the first chance it got. My mouth watered instantly, and I wanted to sit at the table, knife and fork in hand, and wait for my mother to place the plate of food in front of me, planting a tender kiss on the top of my head. But the problem with that fantasy was laying on the floor in front of me, mouth tightly shut and eyes wide open. I rushed forwards, hastily grabbing a tea towel from the table, and fell to my knees at my mother's side, desperately pressing the towel down [too hard, I must admit, but at that moment in time, my mind was too focused on stopping the bleeding, and not on hurting my mother] on the gaping slit that spread across my mother's chest. The blood had drained from my face, causing the blood to stand out like paint on the white canvas of my skin. The echo of a scream rushed in through one ear and out of the other, and it took almost a full minute for me to recognise it as my own. I slowly released the pressure on my mother's chest to find that blood no longer bled from her, and as I looked down at her colourless face, her fiery red hair, I reached out my hand and stroked the cooling cheek of my beloved Rosemary.

The letter that was on my pillow that morning, it still lay there 98 minutes later, when at last I got to my feet [Shakily, weakly; I collapsed into the table on more than one occasion, almost failing to steady myself on the last] and left my mother alone once again. The window of my bedroom was wide open, and as I entered the room, a chill ran through me. I looked at the letter, challenging it to tell me the secrets it held within. Walking to it, I glanced around my plain, faceless bedroom, thinking no thoughts, feeling nothing in particular.

The letter felt light, almost weightless in my hands, and I turned it over, debating whether it was really there, or whether I was merely imagining its existence. It lay face-down in my palms, the neat handwriting that spelled out my name now hidden from my eyes. I lifted a finger and broke the seal [Dark blue and crumpling, the image of a lion had been carelessly pressed into it]. I pulled out the piece of yellowing paper and unfolded it, expecting nothing, and seeing just as much. The paper I held in my hands was empty, no words marked it, no images, no… nothing. I turned it over in my hands three times at least, before crumpling it into a ball and launching it at the wall in frustration. I lifted my hands to my ruffled, blonde hair and gripped it tightly, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as a tear or two began to form. I fell to my knees and let out another scream. Then I fell to my side and buried my face into the soft, woollen carpet that lay under me.

The day, evidentially, did not start as one of the best. It did not start as the worst of all, either. In truth, it was somewhere in-between the two, though I'm sure that's not easy to imagine; a day worse than the death of a parent. But the worst is yet to come, I assure you. Much, much later. The worst is still to come.


	2. Chapter 2

The day, evidentially, did not start as one of the best. It did not start as the worst of all, either. In truth, it was somewhere in-between the two, though I'm sure that's not easy to imagine; a day worse than the death of a parent. But the worst is yet to come, I assure you. Much, much later. The worst is still to come.

Once I had pried my face from the bedroom floor, I walked out into the hallway, completely devoid of any emotions that I should have been feeling at that moment. To my right, the door t my sisters bedroom was slightly ajar, and I walked nervously towards it, my hands clammy and my heart beating faster than it had been just a moment ago. I reached out my hand and, slowly, I pushed the door and walked into the room.

Morgana's room smelled of pine cones and freshly cut grass. The walls were dark red, and the carpet was black, and as I walked further into the room, I kept my eyes fixed on the doors to the balcony.

'Morgana?' I called out, quieter than I had intended. No reply came, and I continued on my way to the balcony, eagerly waiting to see the smiling face of my young sister. What I found, however, was not as pleasant. I searched around, moving the glass table from it's place and then promptly returning it upon finding nothing. At the edge of the balcony lay a pair of pink slippers, and I kneeled beside them, picking them up and feeling the warmth of my sister. Lifting my head, a thought suddenly came to me, and unwillingly I got to my feet and placed my trembling hands on the balcony. Taking a deep breath, I leaned slightly forward and lowered my head.

On the ground below me lay the motionless form of my dear sister. Her blue dress was no longer the shade it had been, as blood now stained the skirt, and dirt and dust covered the rest. I could not see her face, but at that moment, I was sure I heard her calling out my name.

II clasped my hands over my mouth, suddenly feeling the urge to throw up, and slowly I backed away from the balcony, the height making me dizzy. I backed into a wall and my hands dropped to my side. I let out a loud sob and once again, my mind travelled to a terrifying thought; if Morgana was down there, where was her daughter? Bethan was merely a few months old, completely vulnerable. Unable to fight back. Had she met the same fate as her mother?

I collapsed to the ground for the second time that day [certainly not the last], and for the last time Morgana Pendragon had successfully brought a man to his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

I lifted my head and looked up to the sky. The dark grey clouds had begun to leak, and I scrambled to my knees, desperate to protect my sister from the downpour that was threatening to fall. I hurried down the two flights of stairs and through the lounge, almost tripping over my own feet as I ran. I threw open the back door and moved silently to my little sister. Her face was turned towards me. Her black hair was covering her pale face, and as I moved neared, I could see her deep blue eyes watching me with content. I fell to my knees beside her and lifted her cooling hand [specked with blood and other things], lifting it to my mouth and placing a goodbye kiss in the centre.

'Oh, Morgie.' I whispered, a tear rolling down my cheek. 'What happened to you?' The rain fell and the tears poured, and after a few minutes [twelve, exactly], I gently placed my hands under her arms and lifted her from the cold, muddy ground. I dragged her backwards, carefully, and through the rain-spattered glass doors that led into my home. The place I once felt safe and secure.

I set my sisters body down on the carpet and lit the fire. Although I knew she was gone, I still had the desire to keep her warm. To protect her, even though she no longer needed protecting. I sat on the floor beside her and lifted her head, placing it in my lap and moving a strand of hair from her still-open eyes. I brushed my hand over her face, and Morgana's eyes closed for the last time. I wiped a tear from my eye and a small smile appeared on my lips.

'Do-do you remember when we were little?' I asked her. Her silence was the only answer I required. 'And dad used to come into our bedroom when there was a thunder storm.' I looked up and into the burning wood that was feeding the fire, and my smile disappeared.

'He'd read us that… stupid little story, and we hated it… but neither of us had the heart to tell him b-because it made him so happy.' I chuckled, quietly. 'I had the damn thing memorised after three weeks. And-' I paused, looking down at my sleeping sister. 'And whenever dad was at work or-or you had a bad dream, 'I'd recite it to you, quietly, and you'd fall asleep while I held you in my arms.' The single tear soon turned into a waterfall, and I bowed my head and rested it against Morgana's. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

'Please, Morgie… please, wake up.' I begged hopelessly. 'I need you…' my voice broke, and I could no longer hide my tears from her. I sobbed for almost an hour, moving between begging for Morgana to wake up and telling her the story that I held so dear to my heart.

By the time I lifted my head, the fire was almost gone, and my head throbbed with the thought of my mother's laugh, echoing through my mind, and the image of Morgana dancing through the kitchen, singing a sweet song to he baby girl. I pulled my sleeves and wiped the wetness from my tired eyes. I moved Morgana's head to the floor and walked over to the couch, lifting a blanket and returning to cover her with it. Before moving from the room, I bowed my head to say a silent prayer, and then I left her to dream of happier things.

I searched the rest of the house, finding nothing. Returning to my bedroom, I noticed the balled up letter, lying sadly on the floor, and I picked it up. Unfolding it, I peered down at the empty page, confused.

'What is the point of you?' I asked, loudly. The silence had begun to scare me, and I longed to hear something. Anything. The envelope was on my bed. The writing looked vaguely familiar, but I could not work out who it belonged to. I stood there, as still as a statue, trying to work out what to do next.

It isn't often that I'm at a loss of what to do, I can assure you of that my friend. But I stood still, staring down at that envelope, and I did not move an inch [no blinking, no swaying. Barely breathing] until I heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway. I blinked rapidly, wetting my dry eyes, and I turned my head to the window. I rushed over and looked out. Parked in the driveway was a black car [A 1987 Ford Crown Victoria. All windows tinted black, all doors swung open.] and standing by it were four men. Black masks covered their faces, black gloves covered their hands. I froze as one looked up towards me, his eyes seeming to connect with mine, and when he looked away, I could have sworn that I saw him whispering to the man next to him. I ducked down quickly, unsure if I had been seen or not. I looked around my room, searching for somewhere to hide and finding nothing but a too-small wardrobe that his three year old brother wouldn't even fit into. I made my way to the door, keeping as low as I could until I reached the hall. My hair was stuck to my forehead by sweat, my hands were trembling and I was struggling to breathe. Were these the men that had killed my mother and sister? If so, I was certain that they had come back for me. I turned in circles, my eyes blurring and my head pounding even harder.

I froze as I heard the front door slowly creak open. I took three small steps forward and peered down into the foyer. The men were in the house, and they had slowly started moving forward. One turned left and headed into my father's office. There was nothing of interest in there, papers had been strewn all over the floor and the computer screen had been smashed. But there was no sign of my father. The man disappeared through the doorway, and as he walked I saw him pull something from his pocket. Another of he men turned right, heading to the kitchen, where the corpse of my mother lay. I clenched my fists and held my breath. The third of the men stood in the doorway, observing the men as they moved through the house, and the last of the men moved forward, soon disappearing under the stairs and heading into one of the three bathrooms that my home had. I moved backwards, my breath still held, and I spun around and quickly, but silently, headed for my parents' bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

The room had been left untouched. My mother's bookshelf stood opposite the door, and I looked over it, taking in the hundreds of titles that my mother possessed. Had possessed. I dropped my hand from the door handle and moved over to my father's bedside table. Throwing open the first drawer, I moved papers and notebooks out of the way and found nothing. I gently closed it and opened the second. Lying on top of some more papers, I found what I was looking for. A gun. [A smith and Wesson 3913NL, to be exact. Uther Pendragon had received it as a gift from his hunting partner and best friend, Jacob Browdie, who had recently moved to Ohio to be with his dying mother.] I lifted it and left the room, not bothering to close the drawer behind me. I peeked around a corner and looked back downstairs. The man that had once stood at the door had now moved to sit on the bottom of the stairs. He had a pistol in one hand and a mobile phone in the other. The gun was pointed towards the door, it was as if he was waiting for somebody to arrive. Somebody that Arthur hoped would arrive soon, if he ever would, for his father always carried a loaded gun on his person.

Three years earlier, my father had a business meeting in Tokyo. The meeting went almost smoothly, and after shaking hands with the president of Camelot Inc. Uther had left the hotel, only to be grabbed from behind. The man held a blunt knife to his throat and shouted angrily in a language that Uther did not understand. In front of him, Uther could see the worried face of the limo driver, who proceeded to yell at him to 'Give him the fucking briefcase!', but Uther refused to let it go, for inside the briefcase was a quarter of a million pounds and some very top-secret documents. Needless to say, my father ended up in hospital with seventeen stitches in the left side of his neck, and ever since that night he would not leave the house without a gun hidden in his back pocket. Now, back to the story.

I knew that the only place that I could hide myself well was on the other side of the landing. I looked over to the grey, withered chord that hung down from the door to the attic, and then back to the man sat at the bottom of the stairs. I knew that the man only had to turn a few centimetres to the left and he would see me. Kill me. I dropped to my knees and crawled over to the wall, keeping as far back from the banister as I could. I shoved the gun down the back of my jeans and began moving forward. I came to the open door of the shower room and glanced in. As I moved, I noticed a speck of blood on my hand, and I shut my eyes, quickly opening them again as the image of my dead sisters face appeared. Below me, I heard voices.

'Kitchen's clear.' A gruff voice said.

'Yeah, so's the bathroom and the lounge.'

'Are you sure 'es here, boss?'

At that moment I was unaware, but the man with the gun got to his feet and moved swiftly towards the questioner.

'Of course he's fucking here, Mitch saw 'im this morning.' He snapped, smacking the man across the face. The man moved backwards and lifted a hand to his cheek.

'Then why,' another man spoke up, 'didn't 'e kill 'im this morning?' The man with the ginger beard stepped forward and rested his elbow on the banister. He looked at his boss with questioning eyes.

'Because 'e was wakin' up, that's why! We can't risk losin' any more men, you know that.' Mitch, the man in question, stood silently in the background and pulled his mask from his face.

'Yer, boss, I know.' The bearded man replied, folding his arms across his chest and looking at his feet. The memory of his late-uncle's last mission flew through his mind. [Gunshots echoed, blood flew like a river across the cream carpet, and Luca ran and ran and ran until he could run no more]. The man named Luca shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

Up on the landing, I was halfway between my parent's bedroom and the safety point, the attic. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on my hands as they moved back and forth. My breath was so quiet, I had to question whether it was coming out at all. As I reached the top of the stairs, I paused momentarily, listening as the voices slowly came to a stop. The hair on my arms stood up, and I felt a cool bead of sweat rolling down the side of my face.

Luca sighed. Mitch stood still, throwing his mask from hand to hand. The unnamed man stood leaning against the wall, looking at his boss, waiting to be told what to do next. And the boss? He had turned. He lifted his foot and set it down hard on the step above.

I lifted my hand and after feeling around blindly for a few moments, I found the door handle. I turned it as quietly as I could and gently pushed open the door. Crawling inside [backwards, keeping my eyes on the stairs], I pushed the door shut, keeping it open only a crack so I could see into the hallway. I was back in my sister's bedroom once again, and I found myself unable to move once again.

Thank you for the reviews :) Also, do you think the rating it too low? What do you think it should be? x


	5. Chapter 5

I held my breath as I heard footsteps approaching the door. Moving into a crouch, I moved backwards and into the small space that was between the wardrobe and the wall. To be able to squeeze myself into the small, cramped space, I had to suck in my stomach and turn my feet at an awkward angle, but I got into it just as the door swung open. I could not see at the time as the sweat and the darkness caused my vision to blur. I could still hear, though, and my heart sped up as the creaking of the floorboards got closer and closer to where I was uncomfortably hidden.

I tried to move further back but could not, as my shoulder was wedged between wall and wardrobe, so I stayed as still as I possibly could in the hope that I would be invisible.

Luca walked noisily around the large, red room, gun raised in case anyone jumped out at him, and he searched for the boy that had no name. Throwing open the wardrobe door, he reached in and moved the dresses and the skirts around, reaching his hand as far in as he could and feeling nothing but air. He shook his head and turned, looking around the room for any other places where a man could hide. Turning his head to the left, and then right, Luca sighed hopelessly.

'Pointless…' he mumbled to himself, as he turned and headed for the door.

I heard the door close, but I was too afraid to leave the small space, as I did not know if the man was simply toying with me. You see, when I was a child my sister and I would play our favourite game of hide and seek, and often, she would slam a door shut, pretending to have left the room. I, of course, would jump out of my hiding space and be caught immediately. As I stared at the wall in front of me, my mind drifted back to those times of happiness, those times where my sister and I would be alone in out giant house. We would do anything a child would want to do in those circumstances, and soon after out parents had left, the kitchen would be filled with the smell of burnt cupcakes and the heat of the oven. Our parents never seemed to mind it.

I felt yet another tear rolling down my cheek, and I longed to reach up and wipe it off, but I was frozen in place.

It took me 17 minutes and almost 9 seconds to work up the courage to move. My arm had cramped up, and my knees hurt, as did my neck. I clasped my hands together and lifted them over my head, wincing as I heard the cranking of bones. I moved my head side to side, and then I looked towards the door. If I squinted my eyes shut a little, and forced myself to believe it, I could picture Morgana sat in her chair, in front of the mirror, combing her long, raven hair and smiling back at me. It hurt to think of it, and soon those thoughts were replaced with the image of her pale, bloody face looking up at me with dead eyes. The trembling of the hands and the silent, deathly beating of the heart were what awakened me from these thoughts, and I lifted a hand to my chest and gripped my sweat-soaked top as hard as I could, watching as my knuckles turned white. My ribcage got smaller and smaller, my lungs bigger and bigger, until finally I surrendered and fell onto the bed, gasping for breath that just didn't want to come. Stars appeared in front of my eyes, and water leaked from them; though I was not crying.

I lay on my back on the soft, comfortable bed and I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks and the bumps that covered it. Inside my skull, an earthquake was threatening to embody. I lifted my arms and threw them over my eyes, shielding them from the light that now seemed so bright. I closed my eyes and let out a small gasp of air. I rolled over onto my side, my arms still glued to my face, and I stayed that way until I heard the gunshots.


	6. Chapter 6

Raised voices echoed though the house as Luca made his way downstairs. In the kitchen two men stood arguing.

'Hey, what the fuck is going on?' he asked, rushing to stand in between two of them. He was immediately thrown to the side, his hip crashing into the kitchen counter painfully.

'Stay outa this!' a voice yelled. The voice of his friend, Mitch. Luca lifted his black jumper and gently ran a hand over the red and the blue that was now painting itself onto his dark skin. He looked over to the silent man and raised an eyebrow. He gave nothing in return, just stood with his arms folded over his chest, watching the scene unfolding before him. Mitch moved forward, and Luca followed, roughly placing a hand on his chest and stopping him.

'Dude, do you really want to start somethin'? Mitch glared angrily into his eyes, but Luca stayed calm.

'We have a job to do, remember?' he said, dropping his hand. 'Now let's go and fucking do it!' He gripped Mitch by the shoulder and spun him around, directing him towards the back doors of the house. The boss spoke up.

'Where are you going?' Luca looked over his shoulder.

'Have any of you _checked _the garden?' he pointed out, irritated. The boss merely shrugged his shoulders, and Luca continued on his way.

He lead his friend towards the garden shed and released his grip. Mitch spun around and looked at him.

'Why are we _really _out here?' he asked, suspiciously.

'Because, I promised your dad I'd keep you outa trouble.' Mitch rolled his eyes.

'I can look after myself.' He pointed out. Luca chuckled and pushed past him, moving towards the half-open door of the shed. He peeked his head around the side of the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There wasn't much inside; a few cardboard boxes, an old rocking horse. In the corner was a large pile of concrete, dug up from the garden the summer before. Luca opened the door fully and stepped into the shed. Out of the corner of his eye, Luca saw movement. He kept his eyes fixed on the concrete and slowly reached for his gun.

'Luc?' Luca turned his head and gave Mitch a warning look. Look stepped back out into the garden and shoved his hands into his pockets [a trait he had picked up from his late father, Brian]. In the darkness of the shed, Luca saw more shadows dancing around him, and he pulled the gun from his pocket, raising it to the darkness, and without a thought he pulled the trigger three times.

Luca lowered the gun and listened. Somewhere on the floor, someone was whimpering.

'Get a torch or something! I can't see a fuckin' thing in 'ere!' he called out. Moments later, Mitch appeared at his side. Flicking the switch, light flooded into the shed, and Luca scanned the are in front of him.

'Jesus, Luc…'

The first thing Luca saw were the small, dust-covered feet. As he moved his eyes along the twitching figure, a small gasp escaped his lips. Sandy blonde hair was plastered to a small, freckled face with blood. The boy's white shirt was no longer white, as a mix of dust and mud and blood now stained it. At the shoulder of the no-longer-white shirt was a small, circular hole.

'Right through the heart.' Luca whispered, sadly.

A pair of green eyes looked up at him, pleading silently for help, but Luca could give none. The two men stood silently still in the dimness of the shed, watching as Teddy Pendragon's last pain-filled breath escaped him.

**I can't believe how slowly this story is moving along. I promise, the next one will be longer and will focus on Arthur actually gettin out of the house. And for those of you that don't remember Teddy, he's Arthur's baby brother. God, I feel so mean killing him now :(**


	7. Chapter 7

My eyes opened and my head slowly lifted. I looked towards the window, and the direction the gunshot had come from, and I slowly moved my hands to my sides and pushed myself into a sitting position. The afternoon sky was bright and cloudy; the rain seemed so far away. I stood and made my way slowly towards it, my chest still aching and my eyes still watering. My breath had returned to almost normal. My lemon coloured hair was dishevelled and sticking up. I caught sight of myself in the reflection of the window, and smoothed it down as best I could.

I should mention that, at that very moment, a silver Mercedes was speeding along the highway on its way to me. In that Mercedes sat a woman, dressed in green and silver and yellow. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her eyes [Grey? Blue?] were fixed on the mobile phone she held in her hand, reading the message over and over again. Her name was Chelsea. And she would not live past the hour.

The view from my sisters balcony was a wonderful one. It showed me the garden, green and brown, with fallen leaves spread all over. An old wooden swing set stood gallantly in the middle of a concrete square, and the swing moved slightly in the breeze. Looking up, I could see over the large stone wall that once obscured my childish eyes from the view beyond. The view of lakes and forests and elderly men walking their small cat-like dogs by the river.

I took a deep breath, smelling the innocence of the day. I walked over to the balcony and for the second time that day, I rested my elbows on the varnished wood and looked to the ground. This time there was no terrible site staring back at me, no painful death or unmoving corpse. There was only the nothingness of the ground; of the grass and the mud and the stained-red ground. My hair was ruffled once again by a breeze that danced through my ears and my skin. My blue eyes scanned the garden, searching for any sign of life, any sign of what caused the loud bang that roused me. I saw nothing but the garden that I grew up playing in. Playing with my sister and my little brothers.

I puffed out my cheeks and let out a sigh. What had happened to my family? My dear, wonderful family. I had awakened that morning [my 21st birthday, I should remind you] with nothing but happiness and content going through my mind. How my world had changed since then. It had been a matter of hours, and my world had come crashing down around me. My mother, my sister… I didn't know the fate of my little brothers, or my dad or my niece. All I knew was that if I stayed in this house, my life may be over sooner that it should be. I pushed off the balcony and walked back into the room. I reached back and felt the gun that stuck out of the back of my jeans, comforted by the feeling of it. The safety that it held.

I stood in front of the door with my hand outstretched, barely touching the door handle, too afraid of what my lie on the other side.

I turned the handle and opened the door, just a crack. I looked out into the hallway with one eye and saw nothing, so I opened the door a little more. This time, I leaned out into the hall. Still, I saw nothing. No one. I looked both ways a number of times, before taking that first step out of the safety of the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind me. I kept my body pressed to it, knowing that someone could be stood at the bottom of the stairs, or behind the next door. I moved a foot forward, then retracted it. Below me, I heard footsteps. Quiet footsteps, but I heard them. I shook my head and licked my dry lips. Getting onto my tiptoes, I tried my best to peer over the banister at the floor below. I saw nothing but the front door.

Below me, the footsteps stopped. I moved my foot out once again and pressed it firmly to the floor, and I followed it with the other. Before I knew it, I was stood at the banister, able to see the front door clearly. It was open just a crack, and I rationalized that if those men were nowhere to be seen, I had a chance of running to it and getting out. My eyes lit up with determination, and I inched sideways towards the stairs. Reaching the top, I placed my hand on the banister and turned my head to the left, looking downward. I saw no feet, no bodies. Nothing. I took my chance and creeped my way down the first three stairs. I paused to look over the banister, then continued on down the next three, and I continued to do so until I only had two steps to go.

I leaned as far forward as I could and looked around the corner that led to the kitchen. Empty. Or, as far as I could see it was.

What I failed to remember was that there was another corner, another part of the kitchen.

I turned the corner and took a step forward. The floorboard creaked. I froze. Looking over my shoulder, I waited for the men to come running, but they never did. I inched forward as slowly as I could, until I reached the second corner. Peering around it, I saw a shadow. Stood on the other side of the kitchen, the man was stood with his back to me. One hand hung down by his side, the other was held to his mouth. A puff of smoke floated to the ceiling, and I could smell the burning cigarette. I dropped to the floor. A few metres away from me stood the cooker, and next to that were three cupboards, which would give me enough cover to make it to the kitchen doors. I kept my eyes fixed on the feet of the man and I took a small step forward. I wobbled and fell forwards. I threw out my hands and landed with a thud. I quickly scrambled to my knees, too afraid to check if I had been seen, and I hurriedly crawled towards the cooker, falling against it, out of breath.

As afraid as I was, I risked looking to see if I had been heard. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my top and leaned to the side, turning my head towards the man with the cigarette. He had turned, and was now looking down the narrow corridor that lead from the kitchen to the lounge. A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short lived for when I turned to looked back towards the door, I saw movement off to my left. I spun my head around and found a tall man [now unmasked] stood staring back at me, a smirk on has face and his gun pointed at my head. My eyes widened and I reached for my gun as I got to my feet and moved as quickly as I could. Behind me, the gun was fired and something smashed and fell to the floor. I ducked around the lifted my father's gun and moved to the right, towards the area that the smoking man had stood. I moved quickly to the next cabinet, dodging a bullet by centimetres as I fell to the floor.

I felt something hot and sticky drip down my cheek, and I lifted my hand to it. Pulling it away, I found a puddle of red in the centre of my palm. Blood. I flew into a panic. Had I been shot? Was it serious? I couldn't die now. I had to get out of here and figure out what was going on. A sudden urge of anger flew through me and I gritted my teeth and jumped to my feet, gun raised. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger over and over and over again, until no more bullets came out. Opening my eyes, the room appeared empty. Plates lay smashed on the counters and on the floor, my mother's flowers [a mix of daisies and roses and violets] lay strewn around the floor, slowly dying. I heard movement and dropped once again to the floor.

'Who the hell are you?!' I yelled out, to no one in particular. No answer came, and I scanned the floor. I got to my knees and moved around, trying not to draw any attention to myself. I slowly moved into a crouch, my gun still raised protectively. Those men didn't need to know that it was empty, right? Unable to see much, I got to my feet to get a better view.

I must admit, it was a stupid thing to do given the circumstances. Men were in my home, armed men. The smart thing would have been to stay down until I was absolutely certain there was nobody there. No danger. But me, being the idiot that I am, I stood up.

A sharp shot of pain ran through my shoulder and I fell forwards. I gripped my shoulder. I continued to fall, and as I did so my head connected with something cold and hard. Instead of stopping, though, I continued to fall, through the cold, hardness and towards the ground. Sharp caws scratched at my arms and my neck and my face, drawing rivers of blood, and I crashed to the ground landing painfully on my right arm. I cracked open one eye and saw nothing but blackness. The world soon went silent, but before it did, the sound of feet stepping on glass echoed through my mind.


	8. Chapter 8

My head pounded against my skull as I opened my heavy eyes and slowly looked around the room I was now in. I lay on what appeared to be a burnt mattress, which felt as if it was crumbling underneath me every time I moved. A dark blue blanket covered his legs, covered in rips and tears. The room I was in was bare except for a green rocking horse that sat in the corner, and a chair that sat in the middle of the room. A small stream of light flooded in through a small slit in the wall, making it almost difficult for me to see. The room smelt wet and musty, as if it had been raining in the desert, and the sound of a machine rattling in the distance cancelled out the sound of the silence. I lifted my head and pushed myself up onto my elbows. At the opposite end of the room was a large, double-doored wardrobe that appeared brand new. The doors were open just a crack, but I could not see in side. To the left of the wardrobe was a rocking horse, and a chill ran through me as I noticed that it was slowly rocking back and forth.

I sat up a little higher and tried to get to my knees, failing and crashing back to the ground. I cried out in pain as my elbow connected painfully to the concrete floor. I bit my bottom lip, quieting the whimper as best I could. Looking around again, I noticed a small wooden door near to where I lay, and I looked down at my legs threateningly before I once again tried to get to my knees. My head began spinning and I used the wall to steady me as I got to my feet. Cautiously, I took a step towards the door, quickly recoiling when I heard a loud crash a mere inches from where I stood. Backing up to the corner of the room, I crouched down, hoping that the darkness was enough to hide me from whatever was out there. In the distance, I could make out the sound of footsteps approaching. Looking around the room again, I tried to find somewhere I could hide, somewhere I would not be seen, but there was nothing. No cupboards, no dark holes I could crawl into. Nothing.

As the footsteps gradually got closer, I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered to myself.

'Please, oh fuck, please don't come in here...'

My prayers went unanswered, as the footsteps stopped right outside the door. Opening one eye halfway, I saw the beam of a flashlight flooding through the bars of the door and scanning the room. A key turned in the lock, and I pressed himself closer to the wall, trying my hardest to blend into it.

The door swung open, crashing against the stone wall, and the footsteps slowly entered the room, followed by the echoing sound of somebody whistling. I pulled my knees closer to my chest and hid my face as the footsteps stopped in front to me. Risking a peek, I saw the beam of light roaming from the rocking horse, to the wall opposite me, to the bed where I recently lay.

The whistling grew louder and the footsteps closer, and I felt a flutter in the bottom of my chest. I lifted a hand to cover my mouth, suddenly overcome with a feeling of nausea. Following the beam of light, I saw a torch appearing round the corner, and the whistling turned into the croaky sound of a man singing.

'_Ain't gonna rain… no more… no more…' _A shadow appeared around the corner, followed by a foot, followed by a leg.

'_Aint gonna…' _I felt the sweat rolling from my hair line and down my face_. 'rain…' _My heart was beating so hard, I thought it would burst from my chest._ 'No…' _I looked up as the full figure of a man appeared before me, and his heart threatened to burst, as the flashlight was abruptly turned off, and the man's voice turned into a whisper.

'_More…'_


End file.
